Page 21 of Before the Night Falls
She tilted her head skeptically. “Name one.”
“Well, I tried singing karaoke, and it was disastrous.”
Olivia laughed. “ThatI would like to hear.”
“Not today. Time to eat.” He placed a sandwich in front of Olivia.
* * *
Olivia left the kitchen when Wes and Chandler came home with fast food burgers and fries. They’d offered her some. Before temptation got the best of her, she’d exited.
She had to remind herself she wasn’t on this program for herself. She cared about the viewers who were counting on her to do this program with them. She couldn’t let them down.
She’d already gotten emails from people who were eagerly participating with her and counting on her to set a good example.
Flipping up the screen to her laptop, she decided to check her email and update her social media. It took a few minutes for everything to load.
She smiled at some of the comments her viewers had made. Generally, the feedback she received was positive. Occasionally, she got a critical message from someone who didn’t think fun and reporting went together.
Olivia begged to differ. Above all, it had to be fun. If not, what was the point?
One message was from [email protected], and the subject read, “Remember me?”
Clicking on the email, she read the message.
And you thought it was all over.
Olivia frowned and read it again. Was the sender talking about a segment she’d done in the past? It was the only thing that came to mind.
Still, the message seemed odd. Then again, dealing with the public opened her up to a wide range of personalities.
Shrugging, she shut down her email and closed her laptop with a click.
She didn’t have any more time to waste. She and Chandler had a meeting to start editing some footage.
But something about the message bugged her.
Those words combined with that rose petal she’d found tried to set her back and erase months of progress.
Olivia couldn’t let that happen.
* * *
That night, Olivia woke with a start, her heart pounding.
The digital clock on her nightstand read 2:17 a.m. She’d heard something—a creaking floorboard perhaps or a door closing softly.
She sat up, straining to hear over the sound of her own breathing.
There it was again—the unmistakable sound of footsteps moving down the hallway past her room.
Carefully, she slipped out of bed and moved to the door, pressing her ear against it.
The footsteps stopped.
She waited a full minute before cracking the door open just enough to peer through.
A shadow moved at the end of the hallway—tall, masculine.
